


ear necklace in your cup

by Anonymous



Category: Folgers "Home for the Holidays" Commercial, Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Humor, Inspired by Folgers "Home for the Holidays" Commercial, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Thorgil comes home, and Ketil has an even worse day than he does in canon.
Relationships: Thorgil/Olmar (Vinland Saga)
Kudos: 2
Collections: Anonymous





	ear necklace in your cup

**Author's Note:**

> The [Folgers incest ad's backstory](https://www.gq.com/story/folgers-incest-ad-oral-history) is exactly the kind of reunion giruoru had to have had offscreen, so I was compelled by law to do this. The Folgers crystals have been replaced with various meats for historical accuracy. @ vincestsaga on twitter for more brocontent.

Leaning suavely against the front of the house, Olmar glances up at the path, then down, then up again. He's waiting for his brother.

He's also trying to look like he's _not_ waiting, which is almost as hard as the waiting itself. It has to be the perfect pose when Thorgil sees him for the first time as a real grown-up man. His heart isn't exactly racing, but definitely faster than usual, and he keeps wanting to rearrange himself. Checking again to make sure no horses are in view yet, he turns around, puts a hand on his hip and another on the back of his head, and holds it like he's in the middle of thinking about something important.

This is an important moment, because even Thorgil never got the chance to make this huge jump in front of him, from tiny little brother to a man finally finished growing. It happened slow, no big surprises except when he'd show up with another cut from sword practice. It was just practice, but sometimes it looked like he was leaning into Snake's sword, daring the guy to cut him even though he really, _really_ wasn't supposed to hurt one of the master's sons. He was up to two or three scars when he left home.

The slaves are starting to get their shit together and put together a proper welcome—the messenger got here ten whole minutes ago, for fuck's sake—and a few of them look at him weird. Olmar's used to that, so he ignores it. This is about making a good impression that makes Thorgil see his little brother is on his way to being just like him, as soon as he gets the chance. Like a second first meeting, one where Olmar isn't spitting up and drooling on himself.

Thorgil always says he was an especially ugly baby, but Olmar doesn't believe his brother's actually seen enough babies to make that call.

When the figures on horseback finally come into view, it's obvious which one is his brother from the sword on his back. Olmar's scratching his butt when he looks up to see them, but he quickly moves the hand up to his back and then transitions into a casual stretch with both hands on his waist, which he holds until they're close enough to dismount.

"I must have the wrong house," Thorgil says, swinging off his horse and looking Olmar up and down.

"Brother!" Olmar says, pointing to himself with his thumbs. Just to remind him. Thorgil has a few pretty nasty scars on his face now, and probably a whole bunch more on his chest, which is broader than ever. There's no way Olmar can say something stupid like I _missed you so much._ "You look awesome."

In response, Thorgil flexes as if to let Olmar hang off his arm like he used to when he was little. He never got off the ground or anything, it's not like Thorgil was ever that much taller, but he could always lift Olmar up a little bit when he was in the mood. Which he was, sometimes.

Olmar claps a hand on on Thorgil's bicep, feeling the usual mix of awe and inadequacy. Like everything else about his brother, it's bigger than his. "I was waiting forever, you know." _Shit._ It slips out after all that effort.

"Long way from England," says Thorgil, and Olmar's relieved he didn't notice.

Thorgil was already taller than Dad when he left, and somehow he looks bigger now, even though Olmar's gone through his whole growth spurt. There's a _presence_ about him that says he's really been out on a battlefield, without crying or peeing himself or anything. Olmar keeps the hand on his arm, hoping to absorb some of his brother's energy. He can feel heat through the sleeve, almost like it's really coming into him.

"What are you doing, Olmar? Step out of the way and let your brother inside."

Olmar rolls his eyes. Dad doesn't have a brother, so of course he doesn't get this. Just like he doesn't get anything else, ever. Plus he has two whole sons. He has Olmar around to make up for Thorgil being gone, not that he acts like having Olmar makes up for anything. Olmar just has Dad and Mom and Grandpa all riding his ass constantly, when he'd much rather have his brother—

"Olmar!"

"I'm moving, I'm moving! Fuck's sake!"

"It's just some brotherly bonding, Dad," Thorgil says as they reach the door. "Let the kid have something to aspire to."

"Yeah," says Olmar. "I'm aspiring, here."

Inside, he hops up to sit on the table, trying to look nonchalant. His dad and brother stay standing, which makes him worry he picked the kiddy thing, but he's already committed now.

"Aw, real mutton," Thorgil says, mysteriously, grabbing the person carrying a leg of mutton so he can bend down and trail his hair all over it.

"They don't have that in England?"

"Yeah, but they make it out of horse asshole, so it tastes different."

Olmar nods and tries to look enlightened.

"Lotta weird shit over there," his brother says. "It changes a man."

"Yeah, I bet." Olmar sits up taller on the table. "I've changed a lot too." 

"I noticed. How old were you again, champ?"

"Eighteen," he says proudly. "And a couple weeks, I forget how many."

"Oh, good." Thorgil flashes him an even brighter smile. "Eighteen. That's a great age to be. Just feels like it means something, you know?"

"One year closer to nineteen," Olmar offers, not actually sure what Thorgil's going for. It must be some kind of abstract warrior thing.

"Uh, yeah. That must be it." Thorgil grabs a link of sausages off a platter one of the slaves is carrying by, and rips one off with his bare hands.

There's kind of a warm feeling between them, like they're in their own little space together. Olmar tries to keep a silly grin from spreading across his face, but he doesn't try that hard.

"Boys," says Dad, visibly trying to restrain himself in front of the slaves. "Maybe one of you could run and fetch your mother."

Olmar wants to ask why he doesn't do it his own damn self and leave the two of them alone. But that doesn't really fit with the whole image he's trying to project right now, so he settles for ignoring it.

"I'm sure she'll get the idea, Dad," Thorgil says, dangling the sausage over his mouth. "The place is pretty stirred up." Olmar watches the sausage start to descend past his brother's lips. Very slowly.

"The slaves will have lunch ready soon enough, Thorgil. Surely you can wait just a few..."

"Don't worry, I can fit plenty of sausage inside me." Thorgil takes a chomp out of the sausage. "How about you, little brother? How much meat can you handle?"

Olmar's already ready. It's like he could sense his brother about to hand him his cue. He thumps his chest. "I can take _so_ much meat. What kind of real man can't?"

"That's what I like to hear." Thorgil motions forward one of the hands carrying his stuff and picks a package out of one of the bags. "Brought you somethin' from far away."

Dad looks a little like he's contemplating suicide, but Olmar doesn't give a shit about that right now. "Really?"

What's inside the package is a bunch of dry-looking lumps. They have the color and texture of jerky, only they're strung along a cord. Olmar has no idea what this is supposed to mean, except that Thorgil was thinking about him at some point while he was away. Which is a way better gift.

He rips one of the meat things off and sets it on Thorgil's shoulder, where it sits, looking withered and sad. "You're my present this year."

The playful (?) shove his brother gives him nearly knocks him off the table. "Fuck's that supposed to mean? Are you gonna wear your ear necklace or not?"

Olmar looks down at the string of lumps, still holding it in his hands as he steadies himself. "My...?"

Their mother enters somewhere between Olmar's scream and Thorgil's bellow of laughter, and their parents combined manage to suck all the life out of the room. So Olmar gives up and lets everybody else on the farm get their stupid hands all over _his_ brother. He has to satisfy himself with the looks he keeps getting from Thorgil every once in a while. Which actually kind of knock him off his feet, so maybe it's good that he's getting time to recover.

Somebody picks the ear necklace up from where he threw it, probably, because he doesn't see it again. 

Dad goes to bed early, before the evening feast even gets started. He's out of his fucking mind about something as usual, and Olmar has no idea what it is, also as usual. Sometimes it seems like Dad's main job is inventing problems where there aren't any.

It's only in the early hours of the morning, lying in his own bed, which incidentally is big enough to be making out with his brother (which is what he's doing for some reason), that Olmar has a few seconds to reflect that maybe he did miss a few signals, somewhere along the way.


End file.
